Page 25 of Stalking Ginevra

My strokes quicken at the sight of her so vulnerable and on the verge of breaking. I want to stand over my little betrayer, watch those tears mix with my cum as I shower her with my release.

The thought is too much—my control snaps, and I erupt, shooting jets of fluid on the underside of the desk. Each spurt becomes more intense than the last, making me lose track of thefact that I’m desecrating Dad’s furniture. I keep stroking, riding the wave of pleasure, my body convulsing with each surge.

As the last drops fall from my cock, I collapse back in my seat, panting hard.

This woman is going to be my undoing.

TEN

GINEVRA

I sit in a bathroom stall at work with my head resting between my knees. After that conversation with Mom, I don’t know what the hell to think–about myself, about her, about Dad. He got a young girl pregnant, left her heartbroken, and did nothing when she married a known wife-killer.

A suspicious part of me wonders if he even made the introduction to get her out of the way. Why else would he still defend Gianni Bossanova?

My life has turned to shit, and I don’t know how to cope.

Julian won’t give me a minute of peace at my desk, and I have no time to think. He keeps interrupting me when I’m investigating the mess Dad left behind. Now vultures who liquidate companies are walking around the building, taking inventory of everything down to the office paper clips.

The law firm I thought I’d inherited is in worse trouble than a ship without a captain. After consulting the court documents, I discovered that Dad really hadn’t paid Nick Terranova for his equity. The man now has the right to liquidate its assets, leaving every employee jobless.

It’s not surprising no one wants to look me in the eye. I’m the daughter of a scammer. Dad made everyone think their jobs were secure. Now that he and our biggest client are dead, the firm may as well be the Titanic.

I can’t think straight because my pussy still throbs from last night’s encounter with the masked man. It was harrowing, hot, and humiliating. He came all over my face just as I was on the verge of climax, and I’m sure he aimed the spray of cum in my eyes on purpose.

He needs to be stopped. A man like him won’t be just satisfied with a blow job or masturbation. He’ll escalate. He might even be a psychopath. If I don’t do something about him now, I could end up pregnant. Or dead.

And then there’s Mom. Who isn’t actually my birth mother, but a first cousin, once removed. Knowing she took care of me when I was at my most vulnerable makes me love her even more. I can’t let her carry out that harebrained scheme to murder Bossanova for the insurance money. Valentino and his brother only got away with it for so long because they’re connected to the Bellavista family, who have been pulling strings for them for years.

Mom has no contacts, no influence, and no money to hire a defense attorney. Killing Valentino is a one-way ticket to the electric chair.

A knock sounds on the stall door, pulling me out of my thoughts. I jerk backward, my pulse pounding.

“Ginny,” Martina says from the other side of the bathroom. “Are you in there?”

“Yeah.” I rise off the toilet seat and flush.

Grabbing my purse from the coat hook, I open the door. Martina steps back, staring at me with a furrowed brow.

“You okay?” she asks.

I reach the sinks, breathing hard to stay calm. With trembling fingers, I turn on the faucet, letting cold water rush over my hands. The change in temperature only heightens my frazzled nerves. I lather them with soap, rubbing them together, desperate to wash away the anxiety crawling beneath my skin.

“Everything’s fine,” I mutter, my voice hollow.

“You don’t scrub up like that unless something’s gone wrong.” She stares down at my hands and frowns.

I snatch them from the water, stride to the dryer, and shove my hands beneath the nozzle. The hot air blasts against my skin, making me flinch. I rub them together, forcing them dry with frantic motions.

“Is your OCD flaring up again?” she asks at my back.

My shoulders stiffen. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Do you remember that time at college when your dad told you to break off your engagement?”

Guilt clutches at my chest. I whirl around, meeting her artificially colored eyes. They’re a deeper green today, matching the emerald pendant hanging between her breasts.

I shake my head. “I’m just under a lot of pressure.”

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